ou as a voice from the grave. I am not, in any way,
wishing to bind you to any course of action, but only to explain fully
your position to you, and to tell you my thoughts.

"God bless you, my dear boy, prosper and keep you! I know enough of you
to be sure that, whatever your course may be, you will bear yourself as
a true gentleman, worthy of your father and of the name you bear.

"Your loving Mother."

Gregory sat for some time before opening the other enclosure. It
contained an open envelope, on which was written "To my Wife;" and
three others, also unfastened, addressed respectively, "The Hon. James
Hartley, King's Lawn, Tavistock, Devon"; the second, "G. Hilliard
Hartley, Esquire, The Albany, Piccadilly, London;" the third, "Miss
Hartley," the address being the same as that of her father. He first
opened the one to his mother.

"My dearest Wife,

"I hope that you will never read these lines, but that I shall return
to you safe and sound--I am writing this, in case it should be
otherwise--and that you will never have occasion to read these
instructions, or rather I should say this advice, for it is no more
than that. We did talk the matter over, but you were so wholly averse
from any idea of ever appealing to my father, or family, however sore
the straits to which you might be reduced, that I could not urge the
matter upon you; and yet, although I sympathize most thoroughly with
your feelings, I think that in case of dire necessity you should do so,
and at least afford my father the opportunity of making up for his
treatment of myself. The small sum that I left in your hands must soon
be exhausted. If I am killed, you will, perhaps, obtain a small
pension; but this, assuredly, would not be sufficient to maintain you
and the boy in comfort. I know that you said, at the time, that
possibly you could add to it by teaching. Should this be so, you may be
able to remain in Egypt; and when the boy grows up, he will obtain
employment of some sort, here.

"But should you be unsuccessful in this direction, I do not see what
you could do. Were you to go to England, with the child, what chance
would you have of obtaining employment there, without friends or
references? I am frightened at the prospect. I know that, were you
alone, you would do anything rather than apply to my people; but you
have the child to think of, and, painful as it would be to you, it yet
seems to me the best thing that could be done. At any rate,